Murder Under the Tree (19 page)

“Thank goodness you answered, Kay! I've been looking all over...I can't find my cellphone!” It was Elizabeth.

“What are you calling me on?”

“My landline. I'm worried it slipped out of my pocket when we were under the bed at Sheila's.”

“Are you sure you had it with you when we were there.”

“Kay, I always have it with me! I'm lost without my cellphone!”

Elizabeth sounded frantic. “Don't panic, Elizabeth.”

“What if it's under her bed and someone calls? She's going to know we were there.”

“Was it fully charged?”

“I don't know...no it wasn't. I was going to charge it before we left and forgot to. We've got to go back!”

“Elizabeth, it's after eight o'clock. Sheila's probably already home.”

“Oh my God!”

It was probably too late to call and cancel the service on the phone and it wouldn't be instantaneous anyway. “Elizabeth, take deep breaths. Let's hope the battery died. Eight hours on a low battery; it probably did.”

“What if she finds it?”

“Considering the layers of dust under that bed, I don't think she looks there often,” I said, trying to make Elizabeth feel better. “There isn't anything we can do anything about it. Maybe look for it some more around your house.”

I came back to the table and asked Phil, “How long do you think a low battery on a cellphone would last?”

“A few hours maybe.”

I hoped so. I went back to my red curry.

* * * *

Two hours after dinner ended, Martin changed into dark clothing and closed the door to his apartment without making a sound. He made his way through the hallway and stopped at the elevator, pushing the down button. Then, reconsidering, he continued on and went to the exit sign and took the stairs the two flights. He opened the door on the main floor and listened for voices. Only hearing low sounds coming from the television in the lounge, he walked down the hallway. He stepped into the shadows of an alcove when he heard a door close and someone coming in his direction. After that person got on the elevator, he hurried through the hallway towards the director's office. She would have gone home by now. Martin wanted to look around in her office, to try to find something, anything, incriminating. He was sure Nancy was the killer and he wanted to prove it.

Martin heard footsteps again, coming his way. He ducked into the dimmed dining room and searched for a hiding place. There was a cubical close to the kitchen door where the serving carts were stored. Martin crouched behind one. Lucky he had kept up with his calisthenic exercises, he thought, so that he was still nimble like a cat. Peering past the carts, through the windows of the dining room into the brightly lit hallway, he saw Nancy. What was she still doing here? It was a good thing he hadn't made it to her office. She stopped outside of the dining room. Martin saw the nob turn and the door open. Next he heard Dr. Lee's voice before seeing him coming down the hall. He was still here also! Nancy closed the dining room door and followed Dr. Lee back in the direction of his office.

Relief washed over him. Maybe his adventure tonight would be short lived. He had had enough already, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He decided it was best to go back to his apartment. Just when he was starting to stand up, he heard a voice coming from the kitchen. The kitchen door opened for a moment. It was Sheila! Were the staff all having a late-night party at Hawthorne Hills? In the dim light, her face looked all cheekbones and angles. Sheila looked towards the dining room door. She must have heard Nancy opening and closing it. Then she went back into the kitchen. Martin stood up, getting ready to leave when he heard the name “Les” mentioned. He put his ear to the kitchen door.

“Mama. I told you it's over. He got his comeuppance. We've taken care of everything.”

Who's he? Was she talking about Les?

Silence. “Nancy? No. I've got to go. I love you, Mama. Now Bobby can rest in peace. I'll be coming home soon.”

Bobby?

Silence. “That's right. Leslee Hollingsworth won't be in our nightmares anymore. Bye, Mama.”

Martin was shaken. Sheila had killed Les! Who was the other part of the “we” that Sheila had mentioned? She had made it sound like it was a team effort. And what did she mean,”Nancy? No.” That Nancy wasn't in on it? Were we wrong about Nancy? Maybe, maybe not? Not hearing the other side of the conversation, Sheila might have been referring to anything. Not wanting to wait until Sheila left, Martin made the decision to quickly leave the scene.

Martin tried to be as quiet as possible but bumped into one of the carts in his rush to get out of the room, sending the cart crashing into the others. He hastened out the dining room door and fled in the other direction, down the hallway where there weren't any windows. He had made it out, unseen.

* * * *

Hearing the noise, Sheila came out of the kitchen, and turned on the lights. No one was there. She saw the carts out of place in their cubby hole. Then she saw a shiny item laying on the floor by the carts. It hadn't been there when she inspected the dining room after the kitchen help had left. She went over and picked up an engraved knife.

* * * *

Martin's pulse raced as he climbed the stairs. Sheila was the murderer. Whether or not she acted alone, he wasn't sure. He had to alert Sarah and Anne, then remembered they had gone with the group that evening to the theatre and wouldn't be back until late. It would have to wait until tomorrow, when he would call Kay and they could all go with him to the police. He had to do something with his nervous energy. A letter. That was it. He would write everything down.

When he reached his apartment and locked the door, he collapsed into his favorite chair. Picking up his pen, he started writing feverishly on a pad of paper. About twenty minutes later, after he had finished writing, the doorbell rang. He looked at his watch. He hoped it wasn't that new resident James Barnowski, coming around again. Martin didn't have anything in common with him. Maybe he wouldn't answer the door.

The doorbell rang again. He'd get rid of whoever it was.

Sunday, January 4

Early Sunday morning, I woke to the phone ringing. I always dreaded early morning phone calls. People who called very early or very late were usually not delivering good news.

I fumbled for the receiver and looked at the time on my alarm clock. Seven o'clock. What had happened?

“Kay, this is Sarah. Something terrible has happened.”

I sat up in bed and pulled the covers back up to my neck. I knew it. “What's wrong, Sarah?” I looked over at Phil. He turned in bed and faced the other way.

“Martin. He's dead. He died in his sleep.”

“That's horrible! I'm so sorry. Just a minute. I'm going to take this in the other room.”

I put my robe on and went out in the hall, closing the bedroom door. Anxiety swirled in my thoughts. Martin was dead. I remembered his look when we talked about investigating the murder. Had he done something stupid? Too many unknowns. “I wonder...” I said into the phone.

“Wonder what?”

“Nothing.”

Sarah started talking at top speed. “Martin is punctual...was punctual. We always met at half past six for breakfast. He didn't answer his door. Then I called. No answer. I went down to the dining room to see if he might be there. Dr. Lee was in his office. He collected Martin's key and we went into his apartment. He was dead.”

“What a shock for you. What did Dr. Lee say?”

“He paged Nancy. She looked...worried. She looked shocked...even.”

“Sarah, is there anything I can do?”

I could hear Sarah take a deep breath. “Can you and Deirdre come by today? So much death around. And Anne, she'll be distraught after she finds out.”

“She doesn't know?”

Sarah didn't answer.

“We'll be over this morning.”

I walked downstairs and looked at the clock in the kitchen. I'd wait until after eight o'clock to call Deirdre.

* * * *

Thankful that Deirdre came along, I decided I'd first go and try talking to James Barnowski again. Deirdre went to comfort Sarah.

I rang James' doorbell. A tall, handsome older gentleman, with a thick head of silver hair answered the door. He had a pleasant smile. I remembered what Viktor had said about him being humorless.

“Hello, young lady.” He smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I could come in and speak with you. You know my husband's uncle. I'm married to Phil Driscoll.”

“Driscoll?”

“Yes. Aunt Mary and Uncle Ben said they were friends of yours.”

“Oh sure. Of course! Ben Driscoll...how is the old son of a gun?” He made boxing punches in the air. “Come in!” He moved aside to make room for me to enter. “Please, make yourself at home.”

I sat down on his sofa. The sunlight poured into his windows just as it did in Sarah's apartment in the morning. His apartment looked to be the same floor plan as hers.

He sat down close to me. Feeling uncomfortable I stood up and walked over to the window, looking out. “You have a great view from your window.”

What a dumb thing to say as the view was of the parking lot. Looking to the back of the lot, I saw Lola leaving her beat-up car and heading to the building. She looked worried; had she heard the bad news about Martin? All of the staff had the same look on their faces. But who would have notified a member of the kitchen staff about that?

I sat back down in an occasional chair opposite Barnowski.

“So what can I do for you?” He ran his hand through his hair.

Putting my purse on the coffee table between us, I said, “I'm here to talk about Nancy Reinhardt.”

“Ah, sweet Nancy.” He paused for a moment. It was the first time I heard anyone described her using a positive adjective. “What about her?”

James kept his eyes on mine. May as well be direct. “Did she ever ask you to put her in your will?”

“What? Why do you want to know that?” He squinted his eyes and stared at me, then smiled. “Nancy and I have a little understanding. She's nice to me and...” He winked. “You get my drift.”

“Not really.”

“My wife has been gone for a couple of years now. I'm an old fart, but I'm not dead.” He laughed. “Then Nancy came along. I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

This man repulsed me. How good of a friend was he with Phil's uncle? I repeated my question. “She asked you to put her in your will?”

“Between you and I, it's a small percentage.” His eye twitched in what I suspected was another attempt at a wink. “But it's enough to make her happy. We have a little roll in the hay from time to time.”

“Seems to me that would be illegal for her to ask you.”

“This is an agreement between consenting adults. I can put anyone in my will that I choose.” He looked me up and down. “Even you.”

Even with the sun pouring in the window, the atmosphere was oppressive. I understood what Viktor meant; James Barnowski was no gentleman, besides being full of himself.

I gave him a flat look as I stood up. “I should get going. Uncle Ben gives his regards.”

He looked at me, squinting his eyes again. “Now don't go getting that little lady in trouble. She's the best thing that has happened to me since I moved here. Give my regards to Ben.”

Hoping to never set eyes on this man again, I responded, “I will.”

I left James' apartment and went into the stairwell. I took the new digital recorder that I had gotten from Will for Christmas out of my purse and played it back.

“...it's enough to make her happy. We have a little roll in the hay from time to time.”

I had done my homework. In the State of Wisconsin along with thirty-seven other states, as long as the person recording a conversation was taking part in it, it was legal to record the conversation without the permission of the other or their knowledge of it. This law is referred to as the “One Party Consent” statute. I didn't feel bad doing this. Justice needed to prevail.

I walked up the two flights to Sarah's room.

Sarah's eyes were red when she answered the door. Her chin trembled. Deirdre was in the kitchen making tea. I reached out to hold Sarah's hands; they were like ice. We sat down on the sofa.

“I know this is a shock. Were you in Martin's apartment when Dr. Lee checked him over?”

Sarah held on to the cup of tea, Deirdre bought in, probably trying to warm her hands and not drop it. She nodded. “I was.”

“Did he mention anything looked out of the ordinary?”

“Sarah, did Martin's death look natural? I think that is what Kay is getting at,” Deirdre said.

“I know what she's saying. My goodness. Martin looked like he died in his sleep. Dr. Lee told me to go back to my apartment. I bumped into Nancy on my way out. Soon after, I called you.”

“Kay said Nancy looked shocked.”

“The sincerity of Nancy's alarm was visible. When she reached Martin's doorway, she was gasping for air like she had run up the stairs. She entered the room, shaking her head. Yes, I would say she was
quite
upset...worried even.”

“Interesting,” Deirdre said looking over to me.

“I watched for a minute or two from out in the hall. She watched as Dr. Lee looked over Martin. I noticed she straightened out a scrunched pillow next to him. Nervous energy. Dr. Lee mentioned that Martin had bruises on each upper arm. Said they resembled hand marks.”

I looked over at Deirdre and cleared my throat. Hand marks as in someone holding him down. And a scrunch pillow nearby possibly used to suffocate Martin.

Then Sarah looked over at Deirdre. “Why wouldn't Nancy be surprised? You don't think she...” Sarah put her hand to her mouth for a few moments. “You're not saying she had anything to do with Martin's death, are you?”

We sat as several seconds passed in silence. All three of them, Sarah, Anne, and Martin, had thought Nancy killed Les, but Sarah seemed surprised to think Nancy would have anything to do with Martin's death? “Nancy was your...our top suspect,” I said.

“Why would anyone want to murder Martin?” Sarah asked.